


Homecoming

by tacky_tramp



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Tales of Dunk and Egg - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:46:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacky_tramp/pseuds/tacky_tramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baelor returns to the Red Keep as his father ascends to the throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightningwaltz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/gifts).



The day they returned to King’s Landing, the sun beat down on their shoulders. A raven had reached Dragonstone days before, warning them the king was dying; by the time they reached the city, he was dead. The crowds had already gathered when their ship landed at the docks. The smallfolk were eager for a glimpse of their new king. Two litters had been brought, one for the king and queen and one for the young princes, but Daeron waved them off. He wanted the people to see him, strong and regal and dressed in red and black. They entered the River Gate ahorse, Daeron and Mariah at the head of the column, their sons riding four abreast behind them. Cries and cheers and stares surrounded them as they went, and it seemed the whole kingdom pressed in as close as the City Watch would let them. 

Baelor found the heat and the noise unsettling, but he paid no mind to his own unease. He kept his attention on his brothers. He was 14, a man grown and now the heir to the Iron Throne; they were just boys, whose fickle temperaments needed watching and soothing. Ten-year-old Aerys looked as cool and composed as ever, but the thin line of his lips told Baelor he was nervous. Rhaegel, seven years old and unpredictable in the best of circumstances, actually seemed quite pleased, his eager eyes devouring the sights and sounds of the city. Maekar, only six but confident on his pony, just stared up at Aegon’s Hill and the Red Keep above, frowning.

“You don’t like it?” Baelor asked, pulling up close to his youngest brother. The boy had been an infant when they’d left King’s Landing and had no memories of the city or the castle. 

Maekar wrinkled his nose. “It’s not very big, is it?” 

“Of course it’s big!” Baelor said. He’d been a boy himself when last he’d seen the Red Keep, but how could he forget it? In his memories, its towers loomed skyward until they seemed to split the clouds, and his neck arched back and back so he could take them all in. Its dungeons went on for miles; its moats were deep and terrifying. It was his world.

Now, finally laying eyes on it after five years, he had to admit he felt a twinge of disappointment. Was it really so impressive? The numerous towers still stretched into the sky gracefully, the crimson stone taking on a bloody hue at sunset; but for five years, they’d lived among the dark, ornate beauties of Dragonstone. The Red Keep could hardly compare to a Valyrian castle built before the Doom.

“It’s big enough,” he added mildly. 

Rhaegel’s attention had been fixed on the crowds, but now he turned to his youngest brother. His eyes were still big as saucers, his grin lopsided. "Big enough for you," he smirked. "You're little."

Maekar’s frown turned even sourer. "I am not!"

“Little!” Rhaegel repeated gleefully. "Little, little, piss and spittle!" 

“Stop antagonizing him,” Aerys told Rhaegel. Rhaegel just looked confused. 

Baelor couldn’t help but laugh. “And you stop using words you know he’s never heard before.” 

They turned from the Muddy Way to the Hook, and soon the road grew steep and climbed Aegon’s High Hill. The closer they got to the castle, the narrower the road became, and the thinner the crowds. But a crowd of a different sort awaited them at the Keep’s great bronze gate. The Kingsguard stood solemn and pristine in white, and other members of the court had turned out to greet the new king, as well. Baelor searched for familiar faces, but they all looked strange. 

All but one. Baelor saw a tall boy his own age, straight and strong and standing near the center of the gathering. Baelor remembered him as a bold boy and ready playmate, but he could hardly be called a boy now. His handsome face was framed by long, silver-gold hair, and he carried a great longsword by his side. 

As Daeron dismounted, it was the golden-haired young man who stepped forward first. “Your Grace,” he said with a bow. 

Daeron studied him for a moment, his eyes flicking to the sword and then back to his face. “Daemon Waters, isn’t it?”

“It was, Your Grace,” he replied simply. 

Baelor remembered running and climbing and play-fighting with Daemon, son of Daena the Defiant, judged despite his illegitimacy to be a suitable playmate for princes. He’d lately been acknowledged as one of King Aegon’s numerous bastards. The favorite bastard, it seemed, since Aegon had given him the ancestral sword Blackfyre. Still, his presence here confused Baelor. 

An older man rushed to the fore then, looking flustered and hurried. His tunic bore a single white tower. He fell to one knee and everyone assembled followed suit. “Welcome home, Your Grace,” he said, and Baelor thought he sounded out of breath.

“It’s been a long time since the Red Keep was my home,” Daeron replied. “I’m glad to be back. Rise, Lord Hightower.” 

The Hand stood, dusting off his clothes. “Please allow me escort you and your family to Maegor’s Holdfast. You must be exhausted from travel.”

“We are,” Daeron admitted, “but we’ll only take a moment to refresh ourselves. There is much to do this evening.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I’ve made the preparations, and you can be crowned at once, if you like.”

“That’s exactly what I’d like.” He paused, looking over the assembled crowd again, and his eyes lingered on Daemon. Lord Hightower didn’t fail to notice this. He inclined his head. “Prince Daemon was eager to greet you.” When Daeron said nothing, confusion plain his face, Lord Hightower cleared his throat. “As his final act, King Aegon legitimized all of his natural children.” 

It was a testament to his poise that Daeron showed no obvious reaction to this revelation. Baelor, however, knew his father well, and could see the ghost of a flinch, the slightest twitch of one hand. Mariah smiled nervously. Maekar and Rhaegel didn’t seem to be paying attention, but Aerys’s mouth fell open. Baelor laid a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Aerys composed himself again. This wasn’t the time or place. 

For his part, Daemon’s face was calm. Baelor wondered if he was imagining a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Their eyes met as they filed into the keep. “Welcome home, nephew,” Daemon said. Baelor just smiled, and then turned away to guide his brothers inside.


End file.
